Spamono
by SynchronizeD
Summary: THE FULL VERSION OF THE PREVIEW IS HERE! There isn't that much relation to GTA, but there isnt that much else to put it under, so here. If you like GTA or Saints Row, then you'll like this, though. Please Read and Review, pple. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Troy

**Spamono**

Chapter 1

The moon shone down on the quiet streets, just beginning to wane, providing wan light, but plenty enough to see by on that dark night. "Damn, but it's cold tonight," thought Royce, an 18 year-old with maroon hair and deep violet eyes, as he strode tensely across the narrow alleyways of Horton Crescent. He had decided to take a detour out of sheer boredom, along with a need to avoid authorities. Anyone that looked sideways at anything nowadays with cops around was likely to get shot by a taser. Royce knew from experience. But it seemed as though the route he was taking now was no shorter, if not longer, than his normal route. Just as he was beginning to doubt his choice, and had begun to relax, a red car came screaming around the corner. At first Royce just moved to hug the wall. Speeding was a common thing, especially at this time of night. No doubt he would begin to hear the familiar siren's wail any minute now. Then, as he took a cursory look, he saw a pistol aimed out the side window...  
At him.

After that, everything seemed to slow down, but somehow it was also very quick. Oh, well. Royce didn't trouble himself with quantum physics. The people inside had guns. No big surprise. Those guns were aimed at him. Surprise. There wasn't much more to it. Royce ducked into a small side street. If he stood still he was dead. He needed to get away from that car, and the gangsters inside it. Assuming they _were_ gangsters (more than likely). And the guns. Couldn't forget the guns. A bullet slammed into the wall next to his ear as he turned the corner. The shrapnel stung his cheek. He fervently hoped that there would be a corner soon, because if there was a brick wall ahead he was screwed. He prayed to no one in particular, when…

He was forced to screech to a stop as a brick wall loomed from the shadows. Resigning himself to the pain that would surely follow, he could only hope that death would be quick. He felt strangely numb. The fear was there, but it was not as potent as he had expected. The red car turned the corner at a leisurely pace. Whoever was inside obviously knew the streets. The headlights were turned off, and the car became only visible as a faint silhouette in the darkness. Royce trembled in fear. The car doors opened, and two burly men stepped out. Royce recognized one as a man from the street. Easily recognizable by a bright purple shirt, he was hard to miss, especially when almost no one wore bright colors anymore. Standing out was dangerous. "Why me?" Thought Royce to himself. "Just dumb luck?"

Then he ran out of time to ponder.  
The first man approached with a cocky stride. He had huge muscles, and by the looks of it, his attitude was rough. He looked Royce up and down, and a derisive sneer twisted his mouth. He took out his pistol, and pointed it right at Royce's chest.  
"The fuck you doing here?" said the man, right up into his face, "You fuckers usually just back off of our territory. You're one of the first to be stupid enough to try and spy on us right here." He snorted. "They payin' you something, kid?" He had emphasized the word 'spy' by twisting the barrel of the pistol into Royce's chest, and he had to fight back a small squeak of pain. But what had he meant by that?  
The first guy looked thoughtful. Obviously his brain was overheating in order to work out one of the great questions of the universe. Then-  
"Hey, Gibs! Look at the little shit! I can't see any little friends around here- I'm guessing this poor fucker doesn't even _have_ a gang!" the member called over his shoulder.  
The two guys chuckled as Royce just stared in fear.  
"Either way, we're already here…I think we can just kill him anyway. No need to leave a potential witness." A slow grin began to spread across his face. "Let's beat the shit out of him first. Then lets kill him," suggested Gibs.  
"Sounds good to me," said Max. Max removed his pistol from Royce's ribs, and both men flipped their pistols, ready to pistol-whip him to within an inch of his life.  
Royce backed up and hit the brick wall, without hope. He had no way out of this, of surviving this encounter. But suddenly out of the shadows came out a mysterious man.  
"You know, picking on people who don't have anything to do with you is low," said the mysterious man, in a tranquil voice. His tone suddenly turned venomous. "That's why I'm going to show what you mother fuckers just what your dealing with!"  
The mysterious man reached into his black leather jacket and pulled out a compact semi-automatic.

"Fuck! The guy is armed!" shouted Gibs.  
The members started shooting at one another. The man hid behind a garbage dump and two shots rang out, the sound reverberating around the walls. Gibs cried out and dropped his gun. He collapsed and was dead before he hit the ground. Max, not realizing his partner was dead, was still firing. The man was still cover by the dump, and as soon as there was a break in the gunfire from Max, as he half turned to flee, his semi-automatic popped out and strafed the entire alley. Royce hit the floor, barely avoiding getting an extra air hole punched into his head. Obviously, most of the shots missed, ricocheting but Max had been hit several times in the general body area. As max, too, collapsed to the floor, the man stepped out from behind the dumpster and strolled towards Royce with a cocky spring in his step. Royce looked at Max writing on the floor in terrible pain, holding on to his chest with his hands.  
"I hate you, Spamono. I hate you!" groaned Max.  
The man walked up to his twitching form on the ground, and spat on his face. Then he raised his gun and fired a single round. Max's corpse twitched jerkily once, then lay still. The man came up toward me.   
"Are you alright, kid?" said the man.  
"W-what the hell was that?" stuttered Royce. He wasn't squeamish, but that scene would probably have scared the shit out of anybody.  
"Don't worry, kid. I'm not going to kill you like they were planning to," said the man. "I'm actually here to recruit some people."

"Recruit? Don't tell me I'm in this shit now, too!" Royce tried to sound threatening, imposing, but his voice cracked on 'this'. He cursed in the back of his mind. The last thing he wanted was to sound like a coward- He might decide he wasn't worth the time and just kill him.   
"Don't worry, kid. No pressure. It's your choice to join our little family or not." His tone was tranquil again. "If you don't want to die right here, right now, I suggest you acquiesce to my, ah…recruitment program."  
"I'm guessing this recruitment program is for the infamous Spamono?" questioned Royce.  
"You guessed right, kid- but the other gang members you met now were members of the Brolers," said the man, his face twisting into a grimace. He spat on the sidewalk. "They'll take anybody out- If we're in their territory, they won't be nice and show you the way out until you're in a body bag. Nobody will help you, or accompany you into their territory, unless you're in a gang. So basically, you owe me your life. And if you decide against joining, I might as well rub you out right now. Wouldn't want any witnesses, and since your life is mine now anyway-"  
"So if I join this "gang" of yours- if I become one of these 'Spamonos', I'll be safe?" Royce interjected quickly.  
"Sure, you could say that. But you also got to cover your members backs," the man said. "And we can't guarantee your safety. But you'd sure as hell be better off than on your own."  
"One more question before I decide. Why the hell are you recruiting anyways, and why me?" said Royce.  
"Why? It's because the Brolers have been a disturbance to us ever since they got here, and we plan on a final brawl to shut those fuckers up once and for all," said the man, "But we're lacking members. So we must recruit. And if we can't recruit someone, were not going to take the chance that the Brolers will get 'em."  
"And me?" Royce prompted.  
"Ah, but that's two questions."  
"The way I see it, is I'm more good to you alive than dead. If I decide not to join after I've heard this, then you kill me anyway. Might as well give me a chance. All you'll lose is a few minutes."  
"Hmm. Clever, eh? Well. In response to your question, let's just say… I see what I can want, and we have a little talk. If we see eye to eye, they're in. If not, that eye will find its' way punched to the back of their skull by a bullet." The man winked. "So- are you in?"

"When you put it like that…I don't really have a choice, do I?" said Royce dryly. "I'm in." Then he added, "And I want to get back at those bastards who tried to kill me just now."  
The man chuckled heartily. "I like you already, kid. Follow me." He began to walk away, then paused. "Oh, and by the way- the name is Troy," said the man. Then Troy strolled off, with that same cocky step, his gun over his shoulder, always ready to be brought back up. The dark streets of Cajus now held a new sense of danger. Before Royce could ponder anymore about if he had made the right decision- if death wouldn't have been preferable than the things to come- he realized the footsteps were fading. Royce hurried to catch up and meet whatever awaited him in the future.  
His pondering would not cease any time soon.


	2. Chapter 2: Initiation

Chapter 2: Initiation (Part 1)

As they approached the hideout, Royce came to an abrupt stop. Whatever he had expected it to be, it wasn't anything like this. The place was filthy- it had cobwebs on several walls, and apparently they'd never heard of Orik, either. He and Troy approached the squalid edifice. Hard-looking characters began to trickle through the doors at Troys' call. Apparently, these were the gang members. One of the men approached boldly, walking with the seemingly natural slouch that seemed to come from being in a gang.  
"So. This who you've been talkin' about, Troy?" The gang member questioned, cocking an eyebrow.  
"Yeah, it is. He handles himself pretty well when in danger- stays calm, though he was practically shitting himself." At first, Royce was just offended. Then he noticed something.  
"Wait a minute- What do you mean, he was talking about me? I thought you just met me today!" Royce demanded.  
"We've been keeping' tabs on you, kid. We've had our hopes set on gettin' you in here for a long time now."  
"Oh," was all Royce could manage. He realized that this didn't disturb him in the least- then he realized that it felt sort of like flattery. He liked these guys, though he couldn't say why. Maybe it was the whole, 'Saved his Life' thing.  
"Sup, kid?" The bold guy said, interrupting Royces' train of thought. "The name is Warhammer, and don't forget it- or else!" He pointed a finger at him. Royce decided to take it as a greeting. Before he could return the…greeting… another gangster rushed to meet them. This guy seemed more cheerful- he seemed oddly out of place in a gang.  
"Heya, kid! Nice to get a new recruit around here! The name's Tony." Royce blinked. "Oh, hey! This guy here-" he jabbed a finger at Warhammer- "isn't really named Warhammer." He shook his head dismissively. "His real name happens to be-"  
W.H. punched him at the side of his cranium, then grabbed his head and made a headlock. He started putting pressure on the nerve cluster at the base of the neck. Just before it seemed that Tony would faint from the sheer pain, Warhammer pushed him away roughly.  
"I'm warning you, Tony! If you breathe one word about my name, I swear I'll-",  
"Hammah Connors!" Tony suddenly shouted, then fell to the ground laughing and clutching at his sides. With an oath, Hammah stalked menacingly toward the unfortunate Tony, whose hysterics rapidly turned into cries for help.  
"Oh! Oh, fuck, no, Hamm- Warhammer! Please, god no!" Ignoring Tony's desperate pleas for mercy, Hammah grabbed him by the leg and dragged the gangster around to behind the dumpster. Royce couldn't see what was happening, but after some loud crashing and banging, Hammah emerged wiping his hands on his shirt. Tony emerged slightly less casually- he had an eye that was already starting to darken and swell. Chances were that the dumpster had some dents in it, too- his shoulder looked dislocated, his forehead was bleeding and there was a pronounced limp in his left foot. There was also a dark stain beginning to spread near his ribcage. Royce had seen some pretty bad shit done by human hands, but this took second place only to that suicide jumper who jumped three stories- all that was left was blood and some nearly empty skin, hanging like a loose rag. The organs were scattered across the sidewalk.  
Warhammer took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't work- he gave up. "Just ignore that asshole, alright? He's just a fucking wimp who calls himself a gang member. If we weren't so damn short of members, he'd find himself being taken out by the fucking garbage man tomorrow morning."  
Royce got the message. Hammah nodded in approval. "This kid's quick to catch on," he commented, shooting a venomous look at Tony. "I think I'm gonna enjoy the time he spends with us." Royce gave a tentative smile.  
Up till now the rest of the gang had been smoking, staring, and some had been cheering at the violence going on behind the dumpster. Now, though, as Troy raised his voice, their heads snapped to look at him. "Alright, guys. This here's- " Troy paused and looked at Royce. "What the hell is your name anyway, kid?" Royce was determine ed not to show fear. It wasn't hard- he felt strangely numb. So when he spoke, he made sure it was loud and clear.  
"The names Royce." Some of the gang turned to look at him in surprise; obviously they were expecting less. His cheeks flushed.  
"Right, then. Royce here will go through the normal initiation; He'll engage 5 of our gang members one by one, and you guys will progressively get more enthused about beating the shit out of him. We've done this before, guys. Let's see what this kid's made of.  
"But first, we got to discuss things," said Troy raising up his hands, "The Broler's are going way too far. They think they own these streets. Well, they're going to be in deep shit, cause there aint' no way in hell we're going to let that happen!"  
Gang members started cheering and swearing with vigor. There was definitely an anti-Broler vibe going on here.  
"Now, fellas; let's not keep-" he paused again. "What the hell was your name again, kid?"  
The assembled gangsters seemed to think this was funny. Royce stepped right up in front of Troy and proclaimed, "My name is Royce Rolls, you mother fuckers! And if you ever laugh at me again I'll beat your asses harder than Tony's got beaten by Warhammer over there!"   
"Hey, hey, hey! This kids got a shit load of attitude!" called a gang member from the back. Warhammer caught Royces' eye and gave him a grin and a wink.  
Royce nodded.  
"You will be fighting 5 of our gang members," said Troy, "But nobody passed the fifth- he beat the shit out of everyone who went up against him. The other challengers may vary, but Mackenzie stays the fifth. No one here has beaten him to date, so your still in if he beats your face in." He turned to the crowd. "And if any of you thinks that you ought to be higher up in the lineup, I'm sure Mackenzie will volunteer to have his warm-up on your asses."  
A member came up to Royce.  
"Yo, kid. If you know what's good for you, I suggest you back off The Mackenzie" said a member. The very way he said 'The Mackenzie' made Royce nervous. Pictures of huge guys with huge muscles and small brains started popping up into his mind. Most of them had blood dripping off their knuckles.  
Whoever 'The Mackenzie' was, Royce wasn't sure that he wanted to meet him. But no way in hell he was going to lie down and play dead for anyone. Troy gave him a few minutes to warm up, mentally and physically. So he cracked his knuckles and his neck, swung his arms a few times, and erected a mental wall to prevent himself from thinking of the upcoming battle with 'The Mackenzie'- if he made it that far. When he told Troy he was ready, Troy nodded once.  
"So, I have a question to ask you, before we begin," said Troy.   
"Really? And what's that?"  
"Are you sure about this?" questioned Troy.  
"Yes," said Royce. He wasn't backing down.  
"And are you sure you made the right decision?" Troy pressed.  
"Ah, but that's two questions," Royce pointed out.  
Troy grinned. "Now I'm sure I like you, kid." He strode off to select and prepare the fighters. Troy stepped forward onto the asphalt, giving his all to not looking like a nervous wimp. A member extricated himself from the group, and stared Royce right in the eye. He smiled and was giving a fighter's stance. From this, Royce derived that he was the first to try and bring him down. Royce slid smoothly into his fighting stance, a bit more defensive that the other mans', his hands closer to his body and his knees slightly more bent.  
Both waited for the other to make a move. A few minutes passed, with neither moving, the man obviously trying to get him to drop his guard. It didn't work- Royce had been in situations like this before. If there was one thing that Royce learned from his battles, it was not to make the first move. If the gangster thought this was going to be a piece of cake, he had something coming. They all did.   
The other gangster then initiated the rumble in the form of throwing a punch. Royce dodged it, the gangster quickly followed with a heavy right hook, but he was bulky and that slowed him down. Royce easily anticipated the direction it was coming from, and ducked it. Now the other gangster's hands were both in front of him, no way he could bring them back fast enough to block. Stupid mistake- he obviously relied on brute strength as opposed to technique. What you needed to be a good fighter was a balance of both. Royce spun behind his back, slamming the knuckles of his right hand into his spine mid spin, bringing the hand back as he finished the spin, and just as the other gangster got his hands above his head to block, brought both his hands down on the back of his neck. Hard. He wheezed once, then collapsed, panting. Still breathing heavily, he managed to mutter, "…Ouch…". The whole spectacle took only about 30 seconds, minus the time waiting.  
"Well," said Royce calmly, "That wasn't too bad."  
"I gotta hand it to you, kid- You move fast." Another man approached as he said this, cracking his knuckles. "The names Joey. And I aint' gonna go down that easy!" Royce grinned and slid back into his stance.  
The second battler had a bit more strategy. But Royce, emboldened by his defeating the first gangster, made one critical mistake right there- he got cocky. He feinted to the right, then swerved suddenly to the left and swung his foot in a roundhouse. But the fighter angled his body to avoid the kick and grabbed Royces' foot. Royce was helpless. He felt his foot twist painfully, then he was on the floor with something hard kicking him in the ribs; Joeys' boot. Royce waited out the pain for a few more kicks, until he was sure about the timing- he knew if he missed this maneuver, he would be easily countered and he wasn't sure if he would have enough strength to get back up after that. Royce took as big a breath as was possible with bruised lungs, and then, as the foot drew back, again, Royce rolled away, ignoring the pain in his chest and stomach, taking the man be surprise. He flipped himself back up, just as the man, who had recovered quickly, launched a punch aimed at Royces' jaw.  
Royce, with no time to block or dodge, bent his knees to keep his balance better, and leaned backwards as far as he could in order to soften the hit. Before the guy could return his fist for another hit, Royce grabbed hold of his fist, still at his jaw, ducked Joeys' other hand, and, when he was right next to him, elbowed him once, twice, three times. One in the solar plexus, two in the ribs. The unfortunate man went down hard, wheezing for breath. But Royce knew he wasn't out- he decided to get a touch of revenge. As the gangster had kicked him, Royce did the smart thing and kicked right at his temple, making sure to kick (relatively) softly, so as not to kill him. His accuracy was impeccable- Joey was out cold. Royce breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his arms.  
Note to self- Do not get cocky.  
Troy walked up. "Hey, kid, not bad at all. Those are some pretty bad bruises going on there," he commented, looking pointedly at his lower lip. "Looks like your leaking a bit, too." Royce went white. Troy chuckled. "I don't mean it like that, kid. I mean you're bleedin'." Oh. "You want a bit of time to rest up, kid? You look kinda worn." He grinned. "You're already starting to look more like us. It was true, too- every member of the gang had an array of scars to show. Royce grinned weakly. He didn't want to come off as a weakling, but if he didn't take time to restore his energy now, he might not make it through the next fight.  
"Yeah, I think I will take a break. Getting a bit dehydrated," he lied weakly.  
"You don't have to pretend, kid. Any one of us here would need a few minutes to rest after that. I know some of us-" here he glared at several members of the gang Royce couldn't see-"would have just lain there to get the punishment to stop." His expression relaxed. "Hey, Moe!" One of the gangsters broke off from the group and walked up to them.  
"Yeah, Troy?" he said in a rough voice.  
"Take the kid to his…quarters... for a while. Wake him up in half an hour or so, then meet me back in the hood." Troy winked at Royce. "The hood is our name for our meeting room- we got the T.V. in there from under a car with the hood missing. Don't try to understand our logic, kid. Just get some rest," he added to Royces confounded look. Royce shook himself mentally.  
"Sure, Troy. And thanks."  
Royce followed Moe to the upstairs of the derelict building, and followed the instructions from Moe to lay down on the 'bed'. It couldn't have been harder if it had been made out of stone. "Old cement bag," Moe said with a small grin. "We never got around to removing the quick-dry cement. Hey! Don't look at me like that!" He said in response to Royces' incredulous look. Royce just shook his head and lay down fully on the bag, and quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


End file.
